


Appreciation

by lalejandra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-07
Updated: 2004-05-07
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/pseuds/lalejandra
Summary: Suddenly she was no longer sacrosanct -- suddenly she was like everyone else. She couldn't tell them apart and they didn't take special care with her.





	Appreciation

Hermione used to be able to tell the twins apart. Her guess is that telling the twins apart is like touching unicorns -- you can only do it if you're a virgin. She worked backwards one afternoon, tried to figure out it used to work. Was it something about their smell and the subtleties of scent, maybe, or did it have to do with the length of their eyelashes? The placement of freckles on their noses?

The only conclusion she can come to is that it was a mistake for her to shag them both at the same time. One of them made her come, and the other one didn't, and maybe it's egotistical of her to think that this is what it's about, but maybe it is. Wizards, she's noticed, aren't really noted for their logic processes. And Fred and George _are_ Weasleys, which means they, like Ron, can sometimes have violently strange reactions to a thing no one else even notices.

Hermione noticed who made her come and who didn't, but that was accidental. Incidental. Not really the point of the exchange, because the second twin wouldn't have made her come if the first twin hadn't been sucking on her breasts and fingering her arse at the same time. It was the overwhelming stimulation that pushed her through an orgasm, not the overwhelming skill of the twins.

Which struck her as quite odd, since Hermione had always thought of the twins as being really proficient at everything. Their practical jokes were legendary, they'd always had fair marks -- and would have been at the top of the class had they bothered to ever do the world -- and... well, somewhere she was sure that tales of their sexual prowess were told. She just wasn't sure where. From whom did she get the idea that they'd shagged the whole of Hogwarts?

From them. Their attitudes. Their cocky, know-it-all strutting around. The way neither of them ever hesitated to push into her and hold contact just a bit too long. How they would sniff her neck dramatically, but she could feel, behind her, the press of hardness. Fleeting, but still there. They were... they were like Ron, but not. They were like what Ron _should_ be like, that was it. _They_ noticed her, and _they_ made the first move, and _they_ treated her the way a girl -- no, the way a _person_ \-- wanted to be treated. Being best friends was all well and good, but sometimes... sometimes Hermione needed to be appreciated for more than her obscure knowledge about the particular bit that would get Harry and Ron out of trouble.

Sometimes she needed to be appreciated for more than her brain, that was all. And the twins -- they did that. They appreciated her all over the place. They appreciated her in the stockroom of their shop, and they appreciated her in their rooms above the shop, and they appreciated her when they all three visited the Burrow at the same time, and they appreciated her in the Quidditch shed during matches, and -- they appreciated her. A lot. And once, just once, they appreciated her together, and she came screaming, which wasn't something that usually happened at all, much less with such violence.

And then they played a bloody prank on her. She had been safe, she had; they'd never done it before. But suddenly she was no longer sacrosanct -- suddenly she was like everyone else. She couldn't tell them apart and they didn't take special care with her.

Hermione was the only one who noticed the change. Not surprising; she loved Ron and Harry, but they didn't _notice_ things, not the important things about _people_ , not unless it had to do with Lord Bloody Voldemort and his Death Eater minions. Then they were all over the noticing, but to expect them to comment on her change of hairstyle? A flattering lip gloss? They couldn't even remember that she didn't like vinegar on her chips; they would never realize that Fred and George used to like her in a way they didn't like anyone else... and now they didn't.

If they had just pranked her, that would be... well, that would be one thing, wouldn't it? But it was meant as an insult, she was meant to realize it was the ending of whatever they'd never really begun. Hermione never thought she was one for vengeance -- she would leave that to the Malfoys and the Parkinsons and the Blacks, thank you very much -- but this couldn't be left unresolved.

She waited, planned, felt more than a little guilty that this is what she spent her time on when she should have been helping Wizard-kind, bided her time, helped Ron and Harry avert Voldemort's rise yet again, cut off all her hair, made it into all the OWL-level classes for seventh year, and when she and Harry spent two weeks at the Burrow (and, of course, Number 12), she jumped for her opportunity. Charlie was more tentative than Fred and George's messy gropes, but he was also better and more experienced and more careful to make sure she came. Screaming. In the stock room of the joke shop, with her legs wrapped around his waist, the fire-retardant charm on his pants chafing her thighs. He thought she was a virgin and she didn't correct him, just ran her hands through his hair and sucked his tongue into her mouth.

Hermione had never thought of herself as particularly cunning, but, of course, she had never thought of herself as one for blood retribution either, and there she was, shagging for revenge, and enjoying herself too. Charlie was long and thick and impossibly gentle at first, but she bit his neck, really sunk her teeth in, and touched his ears the way she knew the twins liked, and he set in on her and --

The twins knew. They had to know. If they hadn't heard the noise, they definitely saw her swollen mouth and mussed hair and the blood on Charlie's neck. He didn't heal the wound, just winked at her and sauntered out of the stockroom. She left the matching bite he'd given her, didn't heal it until just before the meeting at Number 12 that night. Fred and George had seen it; Harry and Ron didn't notice it; Molly and Arthur didn't need to.

She was rather impressed at how vindictive she could be, although it wasn't really all that vindictive. Really vindictive would have been to prank them back -- "I'm preggers!" announced at the Weasley supper table or some such tosh -- but Hermione just couldn't go that far. An enjoyable shag with the side benefit of making two grown boys cry was one thing, but a practical joke was another. That was an _insult_ , and that wasn't the point.

The point wasn't even to hurt them and make them cry -- which she's sure she didn't do, because why would grown men cry about the girl they didn't want shagging their brother? -- but to show them that their insulting behavior hadn't made her cry. Even though maybe it had, just a little.

  



End file.
